Monday, August 22, 2005

Much has been posted about the proliferation of peeps
including some rarities at the Los Angeles River. So we decided to go after
lunch. (Early morning has been committed for some non-birding activity). We got
there around 1:30 pm and sure enough there were a lot of birds at the river feeding among discarded tires, grocery carts, even a baby stroller. However, the
riverbanks were steep concrete, some 30 feet high, and even with binoculars, the
birds appeared small. The larger birds were, of course, easily identifiable.
But the birds that caused a ruckus among the local birding community are too
tiny to be distinguished from the commoner species. Surprisingly, there were no
other birders around to help sort out the unidentifiable peeps.

We decided to leave after an hour or so and because I
felt the place posed a danger to Cynthia. She had this habit of
"disappearing". One moment she is beside you, and next moment she is
gone, only to find out that she is on all fours. At first I thought it was just
her gesture of worshipping the very ground I walked on, but then I
realized that she had this tendency to slip or stumble over the most minute
objects. Lest I find her rolling down the cement walls into the muddy
river, I decided it would be a lot safer for her to move on to
San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in Irvine – a favorite birding place for us.

It was hot at 3 pm in SJWS but there were still birds to
photograph (at least the sandpipers were close enough here than in the L.A.
river). We were walking along the trails when I spotted a raptor-like bird
flying towards us. Having a very limited success in flight photography, I
mentally crossed my fingers and shot at the approaching bird. The bird turned
out to be an Osprey (a bird-of-prey that hunts fish). Not long afterwards
another raptor appeared in the sky. This time it was a White-tailed Kite
but it was too high for any photographic attempt. We decided to close the day
at Bolsa Chica where I have a feeling that there would even be lots of birds.

We arrived Bolsa Chica just in time for the “golden
hour” as our friend, Dan Trinidad, calls that time of day. It is
actually the hour before sunset and usually presents very good light to
take pictures. There were already a bunch of photographers at the boardwalk
armed with monster 500mm lenses while others have teeny-weeny pocket digitals.
Most were shooting the Snowy Egret that was foraging close by, while some were
practicing taking flight shots of the numerous terns zooming overhead. Cynthia
suggested that I concentrate on the Long-billed Curlew (Numenius
americanus) at the other side of the boardwalk. This shorebird is aptly
named because its long curved bill which is as long as its body.

The picture of this bird is one that I am unabashedly proud of - not because of the technical
precision of the photograph but because the image invoked a sense of aesthetic
contentment in my soul. The setting sun seemed to ignite the plumage of the
curlew as it did its crepuscular ballet. And phoenix-like it lifted my
spirit from the ashes of disappointment. The broken heart caused by a twitched but unseen Red-faced Warbler in San Diego had been mended.

Monday, August 08, 2005

The Santa Clara River is the largest river system in
southern California and is only one of two in the region that remain in their
natural state and not channelized by concrete. It lies close to the
boundaries of the cities of Ventura and Oxnard, some 100-odd miles north of Los
Angeles.

The thought of seeing a river in its “natural state” -
so different from the urbanized concrete jungle of greater Los Angeles, spurred
us to investigate this waterway and try to discover what feathered creatures it
harbors. What made this trip more inviting was its proximity to McGrath
beach – a strip of sand and sand dunes not frequented by the heliotropes of
southern California. With the weather as hot as it was, a stroll on an
uncrowded seashore would be a welcome respite.

And so we went early on a gloomy, overcast Saturday
morning (what happened to the so-called heat wave?). The instructions we got
from a birding site in the internet suggested that we park at the foot of the
bridge which traverses this river and hike/bird from there. We found a good
parking spot when we got there and were about to hit the trail when I noticed
some debris which appeared to be the living quarters of some homeless person.
Common sense dictated that we abandon plans of using this path so we proceeded
to go the beach campground just a few yards away from the other side of the
bridge, where we had to shell out $8.00 for the entrance fee. There was a trail
right next to the parking area that led to the river, or as we soon discovered,
the river bed. The natural river turned to be a small creek and a lot of mud.
The river bed itself was huge, probably a quarter or even a half- mile wide. In
spring when the snows melt from the mountains and the resulting waters rush toward the ocean, this
river, I imagine, would be a real beauty. For now we had to contend with
patches of water here and there. But there were birds, lots of them, and
majority of them hidden in the bushes and trees by the riverbank. Another
nemesis of mine, the Common Yellowthroat, were aplenty but so secretive and so
active that getting even one good shot was an exercise in futility. The only
bird that showed itself was the Black Phoebe. One of these days I'd probably
write an ode to this black-and-white flycatcher. We go up the mountains,
it is there, in a park full of people, it is there. In a desert or by a
waterfalls, you'll find it there.

Anyway, frustration was beginning to get to me (skies
are grey and I'm feeling blue), when suddenly a couple of killdeers flew by.
Now that's another misnomer if ever there was one. These are birds about the
size of a small chicken with big, beautiful eyes and certainly not capable
of killing a deer. A shrimp maybe, but not a deer. I started stalking them, crouching in mud while Cynthia was chatting with a local hiker (Turns out she
was getting directions for a birding place in the mountains not that far from
where we were, either that or she was just getting an alibi for not traipsing
in the mud with me).

With the killdeers eventually flying away, we started our
hike toward the ocean where we could see a lot of birds congregating on the sand
dunes. Along the way we passed by a group of tall reeds and a flock of Bushtits
in a feeding frenzy. Bushtits are tiny (just a little bigger than my thumb), active,
brown birds. They travel in small flocks moving from one reed stalk to another,
constantly flitting, gleaning tiny insects from the plants. Knowing this habit,
I positioned myself to a spot where I knew they would pass and hoped against
hope that I would get at least one good shot of a bushtit. And I did.

We moved on, crossing piles of dead reeds, side-stepping
stinky pools of seawater. Eventually we reached the sandy shore and there they
were - throngs of seabirds, mostly pelicans and gulls with a smattering of
peeps. Cynthia then exclaimed, "Look at the color of that killdeer!"
I looked and saw a bright orange- colored bird with a large black
"necklace". (Looking at our field guide later, we found out that it
was a Ruddy Turnstone, a lifer for us).

We spent some time at the beach enjoying the birds
around us. After a while, we felt a little cold (the skies were still overcast)
and the wind was a bit gusty (the waves were high enough for surfers to have a
field day). As we turned to go back to the parking lot, we came across a
fenced-in area where snowy plovers were supposed to be nesting. We looked and
looked, straining our necks but we couldn't find a single one, not even a nest
or an egg. Disappointed, we continued on. On a small dune were several
brownish birds that we discovered to be the vey common House Finches. But then
among them were about three birds that were larger and did not have the
telltale reddish tinge of the finches. Using my binoculars, my heart leapt when
I recognized the black bib and crown of Horned Larks! Having seen these birds
only once before in Lake Isabella at the other side of the state, I was
pleasantly surprised to see them here.

Happy with the fortune we had with the Horned Larks, we
moved on to another spot in Camarillo, where there was only a parking space and
then some expanse of grassy land before it becomes the Pacific Ocean. The
parking lot and this expanse of land was separated by a very shallow creek with
steep banks. We crossed the only bridge that spans this creek in the hope of
getting close enough to photograph the pelicans and other birds in a sandbar
about a hundred yards from where we were. But we have only walked a few steps
when all, and I mean all, the birds in the area flew away from us. Hmmm, my
deodorant must have worn off already. As we were returning back to the car, I
noticed two birds fly in to the creek. I hurriedly went after them and was
rewarded by the sight of two Greater Yellowlegs feeding in the shallow waters.

From there we went to the mountain place that Cynthia
culled out from the hiker she talked with at Santa Clara river. The place
turned out to be a dud, bird-wise, probably because it was getting really hot
(this was about noon, and the cloudy skies finally gave way to blistering sunlight)
or maybe because we didn't venture far enough (a hiker was actually lost at
that time according to the forest ranger that we met). I did have a glimpse of
our target bird, the White-tailed Kite, but it was too far away for a decent
shot.

As we left, we resolved to return to Santa Clara in
spring of next year when the river will be at its fullest, and we hope so will
the birding activities.

P.S. Regretfully, we were not able to return to the Santa Clara River after this so we never found out if it actually became a river or remained as a creek.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Reddish Egrets, to be precise. The birding
community was abuzz with sightings of Reddish Egrets (Egretta rufescens) at the
Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve in Huntington Beach. It will be a lifer for my
wife, Cynthia, and myself, so we decided to go Saturday morning, July 30th. It
has been said that the egrets only appear when the tide is low. The tide will
be at its lowest, so we read, around noontime.

We intended to park at the Warner Avenue area but we
were stopped by volunteers who were getting ready to clean-up the general area.
We parked at the main parking area at PCH instead. Most of the people we met
were already leaving, somewhat disappointed that they have not seen the now
famous Reddish Egrets. Undaunted, we hiked the trail all the way up to the
bluffs beyond the tidal gate, following a group of photographers lugging
their humongous lenses. Along the way, another photographer pointed us to
a very cooperative Great Blue Heron.

And then not too far from it, another
cooperative bird, this time a Black-crowned Night Heron, allowed me to take
some close-up pictures.

On the bluff midway between the tidal gate and Warner
Ave, the photographers with the big lenses set up their gear and watched and
waited for the egret to arrive. We watched and waited with them, taking
pictures of the other denizens of the lagoon below. There were Black-bellied
Plovers, Western and Least Sandpipers, Long-billed Curlews, Marbled Godwits,
Willets, Long-billed Dowitchers and various peeps all congregating on the bountiful
mud flats that surfaced as the water slowly ebbed.

Noontime came and still no sign of the elusive bird. Our
stomachs were starting to grumble so we reluctantly left the bluffs and went
back to the boardwalk one more time to check out if the Egrets somehow managed
to get there without being seen by the people at the bluffs. Not seeing any
sign of them and with hearts sinking, we drove off into PCH to look for a place
to eat. Glancing to my right as we drove along, I thought I saw a somewhat dark
egret in the middle of the lagoon. Must be hunger, I thought to myself, that
gave me these visions. As we turned right to Warner, I noticed that the
parking lot there had now been opened and the volunteer cleaners had started to
leave. I told Cynthia to give our search for the Reddish Egret one more try. To
my delight, she agreed. After parking the car, I scoped the area where I
thought I saw the egret and although the distance was quite great, I was now
convinced that it was actually there. I looked up the bluff and saw the
photographers (yes, they were still there) training their lenses towards the
bird that I saw. I literally sprinted the half-mile distance (at least that's
how it seemed to me) to the top of the bluff. Gasping for breath, I looked
down, and there in all its beauty was the Reddish Egret, frolicking and
gamboling in the lagoon, doing its quaint little dance, doing pirouettes,
half-flying in the air, darting to catch a tiny fish in the shallow waters. We
watched this avian ballet for about an hour and then, as if on cue, the prima
ballerina exited stage left, leaving its audience awe-struck. We almost
applauded and shouted Bravo and Encore! But it went on to another location for
what we presume to be another sterling performance with another audience
whose hearts would be enraptured by the dazzling dance of this divine diva of
Bolsa Chica!

We left the place very happy and all the excitement
seemed to have diminished our hunger that we even had our lunch at West Covina
- a good half hour away.